


My Voodoo Child

by TheBiPenguin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:19:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBiPenguin/pseuds/TheBiPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There had been a long lasting truce between the Hale wolves and the Voodoo witch tribe which co=inhabit Beacon Hills, but it's about to come to an end.</p><p>The arrival of the Argents means that a truce is no longer enough. They need an alliance. </p><p>And what better way to bind and alliance than with a marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something wicked this way comes

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up, in this AU it's John Stilinski who died, not Claudia. I've used Lydia as Stiles' older sister for this AU to give Claudia a successor independent of Stiles.
> 
> Also Laura Hale isn't destined to become the next Alpha. Derek is. 
> 
> Just a little context. Enjoy. All feedback welcomed xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene was HEAVILY inspired by a scene in American Horror Story: Coven. I would recommend anyone who's not seen it to go watch it. It rocks! 
> 
> Enjoy. All feedback welcome xx

It was quiet.

The heat of the North Californian summer had left half the population of Beacon Hills hiding in the shade and the other half lounging in the rays. Not a car was on the street nor a voice to be heard. The doors to the Beacon Beauties hair salon were propped open with an old wooden chair in a vain attempt to catch the breeze.

It was a large, poorly maintained building in an undesirable neighbourhood, with an adjoining apartment above it. Its red bricks were like glowing embers in the sun. which was only partially held out by thin red drapes. Everything in it was old, the patterned fabrics rich with the smell of dust and hairspray. Those unfamiliar with the town would be forgiven for wondering how on earth it had stayed open for the last two decades, when most businesses in the district went bust within a year.

The truth was that it was simultaneously one of the cheapest and best quality salons in the town, run for provision of service to the community not for gross amounts of profit. The only barrier to business was that a large proportion of the residents wouldn’t brave that part of town, known for thuggish behaviour and drug crime. Its owner had no such fears.

Anyone who met Claudia Stilinski would testify that they doubted the woman had ever felt fear in her life. She sat behind the reception counter in the empty salon at midday, idly browsing some trash-mag or other which she kept to keep waiting customers amused. Her long, dark locks hung down, shading her face. Her blood red nails tapped rhythmically against her cheek, they matched the slash of lipstick which cut across her otherwise pale skin.

The Voodoo Chief was arguably the most powerful person in Beacon Hills. In the tradition of her people, her abilities ranged from terrible curses to miraculous healing rituals and divinations. Despite this, it was a total surprise to her to see the only challenger to her position as number one walk through the open door.

Only the third customer of the day, her attire was vastly more expensive than the Chief’s. She wore practical but expensive looking boots, designer jeans and peach blouse. A pair of celebrity style sunglasses sat atop her high held head.

The Chief smiled pleasantly. “Can I help?”

The other woman set her Prada handbag on the desk. “I’m going out tonight, I wondered if you could put in a few curls for me? I’d rather not be DIY tonight.”

The Chief ushered her into one of the high back leather chairs and set to work, combing through the shoulder length strands. Neither spoke as she worked. She’d plugged in the curlers and begun twisting the first lock of hair around its tongs before she broke the silence.

“You Weres always reek of wet dog.” Their gazes met and held in the mirror. “And a wolf in this town means you’re a Hale.”

The wolf-woman seemed unoffended. “That’s right. I’m Talia Hale. Alpha of the Hale pack.”

“Hmmm.” The Chief raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “And what does the Alpha of the Hales want with me? You tired of our truce? Got a taste for blood again so soon?”

The Alpha was pleased that her counterpart couldn’t feel her heartbeat quicken. “I thought I said. I’m going out tonight.”

The Chief laughed harshly. “You’re a Hale. You probably wipe your ass with hundred dollar bills. There ain’t no way you just wandered into this neighbourhood to get your fur brushed.”

“How perceptive.” The Alpha replied curtly. “We need to talk. A truce isn’t enough anymore. We need an alliance.” She drew in a deep breath before continuing. “We’ve got Hunters. A neighbouring pack tell me a family called the Argents are headed our way.”

The Chief released the curl she was working on and moved onto the next. “Sounds like your problem to me.” She shrugged her elegant shoulders, her long chain earring swinging about her strong jawline.

“You’re a fool if you don’t think they’ll come after your family as soon as they’re done with mine.” The Alpha snarled. Their reflected eyes met again with new fierceness.

“Right after I pop the champagne, you mean? I figured I’d worry about that when the time came, but, clearly you’ve got other ideas. How would this alliance work exactly? My magic in exchange for your strength?”

“Precisely.” A toothy grin spread across the Alpha’s pink lips. “And how are all such alliances sealed?”

“In marriage.” They answered together.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

“You did what?!” Lydia Stilinski was the image of her mother, but, with one stark difference. Her hair was a brilliant flame auburn where her mother and brother were brunettes. Stiles thought the two women had never looked more alike as they stood facing each other now in their small lounge.

“One day when you’re Chief you’ll understand. I agreed that we would attempt an alliance.” Their mother repeated. “Because we have Hunters!”

Lydia refused to give even an inch. “An alliance which involves selling my brother to some primal pack of spoilt mutts.” She clarified.

“And do you have a better plan?” Their mother eyed them both pointedly. After a moments silence Stiles sunk onto the sagging sofa in defeat.

“No.” He admitted. “Which one then? There are three Hale children.”

“Oh sweetheart.” She moved to place her hand on his shoulder. “I would never betroth you to either of those rabid bitches. The Alpha Hale and I agreed the pairing most likely to be a success was between you and her son, Derek, the rising Alpha. He will take his position as head of the pack just as soon as he’s taken you as his Alpha-mate.”

“Taken.” Lydia echoed incredulously. “It’s barbaric.”

“He’s not.” their mother assured. “My sources tell me Derek is the gentlest of the three and the most reasonable. He will make a good Alpha and a good husband. You are the Voodoo Prince, my son. You can make it work.”

Stiles sighed heavily. “I’m prince of a tribe that I will no longer belong to. They’ll let me use magic because that’s the point but once I’m bitten I’ll be just as much wolf as they are, they wouldn’t tolerate a voodoo witch in their ranks.” He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, determined to fight down the panic. “How long do I have?”

His mother squeezed his shoulder in thanks for his consent. “Wolves always marry on the full moon. That’s two weeks away. I said you’d move in tomorrow so you and Derek can spend as much time as possible getting to know each other first.”

Stiles nodded stoically. Lydia threw up her hands and stormed out.

“Okay.” He whispered.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Who?” Derek stammered.

“Stiles Stilinski.” His mother smiled. “Nice boy. Strong.”

Derek laughed a little hysterically. “Yeah, I remember. He killed Deucalion.” The Demon Alpha was the biggest threat his pack had seen in his lifetime. Stiles must have been barely fourteen at the time. As the pack of Alphas had drawn closer to their territory, they’d wiped out even the strongest packs they’d encountered. The Hales had been at a total loss for a solution and had been preparing for a battle they were certain to loose when they’d heard it. The most terrible howl of anguish, agony and abject terror had echoed across the preserve on the eve of the battle. No one knew what exactly happened to Deucalion except that his pack turned tail and fled back south and that all credit had been given to the Voodoo Prince, a boy whose tribe hadn’t even been considered a part of the fight. How the hell was Derek supposed to lay claim to a witch of that calibre?

“Strong in other ways.” His mother clarified. “It takes a unique courage to be both fierce and kind. Stiles is both of those things. He will make an ideal Alpha-Mate.”

“I think.” His uncle Peter’s tone was mocking. A cruel smirk played across his gruff features. “Derek’s having a little bit of performance anxiety, sister.”

Derek scowled, but his mother brushed it off. “I was the same when I first met your father. Listen.” She took her son by the chin and turned him to look her in the eye. “Alliances which last are built on love. What do you love the most?”

“Our pack.” His answer was instant.

“Exactly.” She smiled “Family. The Voodoo witches are the same. We need to make Stiles a part of our family. We need to love him and for him to love us. It’s the only way for this to work. Promise me you’ll try.”

Derek couldn’t speak. The enormity of this task finally dawning on him.

He nodded dumbly.


	2. Under your spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is welcomed into the Hale pack, but has no idea what that really involves.

Derek practically leaped from his position in front of the TV at the sound of the car approaching. It was late, the sun already dipping below the treeline. The whole house roused, the noise both familiar and clearly detectable to their sensitive ears. Derek was in half a trance as he, his sister, parents and uncle gathered on the front porch expectantly. His heart beat so hard he thought it might break one of his ribs. After an agonizing wait, a large green jeep pulled into view. It was old and poorly maintained, the paint peeling in places and the engine spluttering. He couldn't see the driver clearly, but he was the only person in the vehicle. It must be him, Stiles, but why was he on his own? 

Derek didn't have time to ponder it, his thoughts interrupted by his uncles grip on his shoulder. "Big moment's here at last, nephew." He mocked. " _Try_ to impress." Derek shook him off and followed his parents down the porch steps towards the Jeep. 

The young man who stepped out of the driver's side door was not what he had expected. In Derek's nightmares he had envisioned a large, imposing man with battle scars, an arrogant swagger and cocky grin. In reality, the Voodoo Prince was more boy than man. He could barely be more than eighteen years to Derek's twenty-four. He was thin, not skinny as such, more lean, but certainly not imposing in any way.

Stiles held out a slender forearm, laced with dark swirling runes, towards Derek's mother, bowing slightly and his chin raised, his neck exposed. Talia smiled at his knowledge of Werewolf customs and the respect he was showing her. Taking his hand she didn't shake it but rather pulled him into a warm embrace. They all heart his heartbeat skip, his anxiety spiking in surprise. His hands came to rest awkwardly on her back, but, he didn't return the squeeze.

"It's so good to finally meet you, Stiles." She released him but kept a hold on his bicep as she turned them towards the rest of the family. 

"And you, Alpha-Hale." He stammered. As Stiles came to face them Derek saw his eyes properly for the first time. Far from the icy glare he'd expected, the amber orbs that looked back at him were more reminiscent of a fawn facing a pack of wolves, which seemed quite accurate really. As the scent of fear hit him, Derek had to fight down the urge to snatch the boy out of his mother's grip and carry him off to somewhere quiet where he would feel safe and the acrid scent would leave his skin. He doubted Stiles would appreciate being hauled off into the preserve by a stranger. 

"Please call me Talia." his mother laughed "This is my husband Jason." Stiles shook Derek's father's hand stiffly, his eyes becoming impossibly wider. "My daughters Laura and Cora, my brother Peter." She and Stiles came to a halt in front of him. "And this is Derek." 

No one spoke for a moment as the two men took each other in. Derek was in awe. Stiles looked more delicate than anyone he'd ever seen. His pale skin looked incredibly fine, as though it would bruise at the slightest touch. He licked his soft, pink lips nervously as Derek stared helplessly. Eventually, it was Stiles who stepped forwards, closing the gap between them. 

"Derek." He greeted, giving him a smile which looked as though it was causing him indescribable pain. He took hold of Derek's elbows and leaned in, lifting his chin submissively as he pressed his cheek to Derek's in another traditional greeting. It was overly formal. Stiles scent overwhelmed Derek's senses, he smelled of honeysuckle and distress, Even with the latter, it was nigh irresistible. Derek rubbed his cheek against Stiles' to mildly merge their scents and briefly pressed his lips to Stiles' exposed pulse, in acknowledgement of the trust he'd been shown, before Stiles pulled away. 

"Stiles." He breathed. 

Stiles face was impassive, but Derek could smell the uncertainty seeping from his skin. It occurred to Derek that he wasn't smiling back, or really speaking properly. It must have been off-putting. Before he could rectify the situation, Peter stepped between them. 

"Peter Hale." He grinned wickedly. "So, you're the famous Voodoo Prince." He was practically leering at Stiles, leaning right into his space. Stiles, to his credit, didn't budge an inch. 

"That's right." he replied. His tone and face neutral. 

"Let's show you inside." Talia interjected. "I can show you the living areas and then Derek can show you up to your room. Girls would you mind getting Stiles' bags from the car please." 

Stiles face went panicked. "Oh, that's very kind, but, there's really no need to-" 

"Rubbish." Laura clapped him on the shoulder as she passed him. "Werewolf strength, remember?" 

Stiles didn't smell reassured, but didn't resist as he was guided towards the house. 

"We cleared a cupboard in the kitchen for all your ritual supplies." His mother was explaining. "Other than that the pack shares the whole house except for bedrooms, which will just be you and Derek." 

Stiles nodded without comment as he was lead inside. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

Stiles was completely overwhelmed by the Hale-House. 

The place was huge. Both huge and well maintained, everything looked freshly done. There were large chandeliers hung from high ceilings throughout the living spaces, a grand staircase with red velvet carpet and most incredible was the kitchen. It had more built-in gadgets than Stiles could think of possible uses for. So it was true, the Hales were rich. They were extremely rich. 

He couldn't help but feel a little shitty as he had tried to present himself, parking his worn out jeep next to Derek's camero, dressed in faded jeans, scuffed sneakers and a superman T-shirt. Compared to the Hales, genetically inherited beauty dressed in Ralph Lauren, he looked like a beggar. He felt like a beggar too. 

But, he wasn't, he reminded himself. He'd been given to them at their own request. They needed his magic to help keep their pack safe, just as his family needed their strength and speed to keep their tribesmen safe. He didn't have to match up to Derek, who could, he just had to fulfill his role. 

His role as Alpha-mate, whatever that entailed. Stiles had read a lot about Werewolf culture and customs, but, he never expected to need to know them well enough to live by. All he really knew was that Derek would give him the Mate-bite, making him a wolf, marry him and then he'd be second in command and bearer of his cubs...that would require some pretty advanced magic on Stiles' part when the time came. But, he'd worry about that later. First, marriage. 

Marriage. 

The word echoed inside his head. Derek had been rigid when they'd met. Sullen, Stiles suspected. He was no catch and Derek was a handsome young man with a powerful name. He'd probably been hoping for something a little better. It didn't matter. Stiles would just have to do everything he could to try and meet the standard. 

All this whirred through his mind as he unpacked. Derek's room, rather his and Derek's room, was over double the size of Stiles' old room and had an equally luxurious en suite. They were apparently sharing everything, wardrobe, shelves, drawers. Derek's clothes and personal belongings were carefully stacked on the left, while Stiles shoddily crammed his into the right. Derek sat on the plump king sized bed and watched him silently as he did so. 

Derek was extremely intimidating. He spoke little and stared. No, he didn't stare. He glared, eyebrows pinched tight in the centre of his forehead. His angular features looked both as flawless and hard as granite. This was to be Stiles' husband. The man to whom he had been given, to love and obey. 

Obey, now there was going to be the difficulty. Who knew what Derek's demands would be. Would Stiles be allowed to have a job? How many cubs would they have? Was Derek permissive or strict? 

"You look as though you might vanish into a puff of smoke at any moment." Derek remarked. Stiles' hands stilled while mid way through attempting to fold a shirt. Damn Werewolves, they could smell emotion. Stiles didn't have to power to vanish himself, but, he could've masked his scent. He'd decided against it. He needed them to trust him, but such honesty made him feel horribly exposed. 

"It's not every day you find yourself faced with a family of wolves as impressive as yours." He smiled over his shoulder at the bed. "It's a little nerve wracking."

Derek seemed amused. "You killed Deucalion."

"Yes." Stiles replied cautiously. "I didn't marry him."

Derek frowned at that. "We're not being forced into this Stiles. Please, don't think that. The full moon is nearly a full fortnight away. If you don't want to do it, we won't and if you're not ready, we'll wait for the next moon."

The sincerity in his voice comforted Stiles, the pressure to impress waning slightly. "Thank you." He murmured.  

Derek rose from the bed and crossed the room, taking the shirt from Stiles' hands gently. "Here. Let me help." He smiled. They continued to unload Stiles' things in silent cooperation until both cases were empty before heading back downstairs to join the rest of the pack for dinner. 

The food was delicious. Apparently, the fancy kitchen had been a good investment as it seemed all of the Hales could cook really damn well. Stiles was a little surprised they didn't have house help. They ate a lot of meat, although that made sense, all of it wild and caught by them out in the preserve on their twice weekly night runs. 

"We're going again tonight." Jason explained. "When you're a wolf too, you can come with us." 

The idea was both alien and unpleasant to Stiles, hunting and killing. He didn't try to lie by saying he'd enjoy it. "Thank you." he dipped his head respectfully at the current Alpha-mate. 

There was a short pause, everyone busy chewing their food, before Peter jumped in. "So, Stiles." He flashed a cocky grin, full of pointed teeth. "Tell us all about your little head to head with the Demon Alpha. We're all dying to find out if the rumors are true." 

Talia's eyes flashed across the table at him. "Isn't that a little gruesome for dinner?" 

Peter shrugged dismissively. Stiles felt an awkward silence forming and waded in. "He did terrible things in other territories. He wanted to do terrible things here in Beacon Hills to people I care about. I didn't want him to, so, I stopped him."

It was all true. And Talia was right, the fact that his mother had ripped a chunk of Deucalion's scalp off in the fight to provide hair for Stiles to wrap around a straw doll, which he'd then crushed under the heel of his boot, was too unpleasant to talk about over food. 

"Brilliant." Cora beamed across at him, a little over enthusiastically. 

"You'll make an ideal Alpha-mate." Laura added. 

Stiles blushed but didn't answer. Derek might not feel totally committed to this plan yet, but clearly, the rest of the pack were. 

After their meal, the pack moved out onto the front porch, which seemed odd. Stiles settled into one of the garden chairs with his book as the pack limbered up for their night run, rolling shoulders and touching toes. Talia and Jason emerged from the house last after clearing the table and smiled knowingly at Stiles before descending the steps to join the rest of the pack. 

Stiles had only a moment to wonder what those looks meant before the pack began to strip off their clothes and fold them up on a small table next to the front door. They seemed at complete ease, but Stiles was mortified. These were his future in laws. He tried to keep his gaze fixed on the page he was reading, but failed spectacularly. Derek's muscular physique caught his attention and held it in a vice like grip. He was completely naked by this point, so were the rest of the pack, but, Stiles didn't register that now. He felt his skin grow warm as he admired Derek's broad shoulders, narrow hips and defined back.

He knew he must smell of arousal as Derek turned to face him front on. Stiles nearly stopped breathing. Derek held his gaze, his half-smile vanishing as he shifted. The whole pack followed suit, dropping to all fours, their faces elongating and their spines sprouting long tails. Their skin erupted in a dense cover of glossy black or brown fur, it varied. They looked magnificent. In any other situation Stiles would have been terrified, but now, all he could do was gaze after them in admiration as they loped gracefully into the trees and out of sight. Stiles sat looking after them for a short while before his stress-tight body fell into a deep sleep in the warm evening air. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles was woken by the sound of howls. They were close, very close. He sat up from his slumped position in the chair, stretching his arms above his head before retrieving his book from the decked floor. A few moments later, the pack came into view. They carried their prizes in their jaws, rabbit mostly, with some large birds Stiles thought might be pheasants. Derek appeared last, trotting right up to stand at Stiles feet before laying down his catch. It was a magnificent stag. It had formidable antlers and long, muscled legs. 

Again, Stiles found himself puzzling the uniqueness of the situation. Far from being repulsed he felt...well, wooed. A young, adult stag in his prime was a prize only the strongest of wolves could have claimed. And Derek had done it for him. It was a valuable gift. Not only was it food, but, it was also needles and knife hilts from the bones and antlers. It was furs to keep warm. Blood and eyes for spells which would keep them safe and healthy. 

It was security. Derek was showing Stiles that he could look after him. 

The whole pack waited patiently for his response. Derek's round eyes looked up at him hopefully. 

"Shift back, please." Stiles tried to sound meek while giving his mate an instruction. It was hard to communicate with a shifted wolf. Derek obliged and stood once again fully naked before him. Stiles was prepared for it this time and didn't freeze up. He stepped around his gift to place his hands on Derek's shoulders, standing chest to chest. 

"It's incredible, thank you." He pecked Derek on the corner of his lips, earning him a huff of satisfaction and a nuzzle on the forehead. It made him grin involuntarily and he nuzzle back instinctively. Derek's hands found his hips and pulled them closer together, his head falling to Stiles' neck, breathing him in deeply and tasting his skin between his teeth. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's neck to secure them in position as the sensation began to overwhelm him. 

A loud cough from one of the sisters broke the moment. Stiles would've jumped back in surprise if Derek hadn't held him firm. He leaned back as much as possible until they were facing again. "Congratulations on your successful hunt." he regained control, but Derek's pupils were still blown wide. "If I clear the kitchen counter could you lift him onto it for me, please? I'd like to sort it out now before it spoils." Derek nodded and released his grip on Stiles' waist, going to retrieve his clothes. 

It took Stiles over an hour to fully butcher the creature, which seemed even bigger now it wasn't being held in Derek's massive jaws. He cleaned and dried the pelt, removed, bagged and froze the organs, stripped the meat to freeze also, detached and washed all the bones and sawed off the antlers before wiping down the counters and going to bed. It was nearly 3am, he could actually prepare it all over the week now he knew it would keep.

Derek was waiting for him when he entered their bedroom. He was laying under the lightweight duvet, clothes free again. Again, Stiles couldn't help but admire. He felt reciprocating eyes on his skin as he stripped of his T-shirt, socks and trousers and laid down next to his betrothed. 

Now it was going to be awkward. Stiles decided to bypass that fact. He lifted Derek's arm, wrapped it around his own narrow shoulders and snuggled in, throwing his own arm over Derek's toned abdomen. Derek sighed in what sounded like relief and rolled Stiles in towards him further. At least they were both nervous. Stiles could here Derek's heart thumping though his large pecks, upon which Stiles had chosen to rest his head. 

Neither of them spoke. Neither had any idea what to say.

I love you?

No way, they'd just met.

I'm attracted to you?

Too unnatural to say, although Stiles was sure Derek could smell it and his chin resting on the top of Stiles' head, tucking him in against his neck was a fairly obvious statement itself. 

It was working. It would work. Derek was nice. It was the best Stiles could've hoped for. He liked Derek, despite not really knowing that much about him yet. He wanted to know everything about this silent, mysterious man and he would find out, eventually. That was definitely a good sign. He liked his musky scent, his handsome features, his firm but gentle voice, when he spoke. Most of all, he really, really liked how safe Derek made him feel.

Up until this point his role in his tribe had largely consisted of repeatedly identifying and neutralizing threats to his people. Now, in Derek's arms with the windows wide open in the summer heat out in the middle of the preserve, he felt completely secure. He was in the arms of a man who would make sure nothing harmed him while he slept, who would fight by his side and make sure he never went unprovided for. It was a totally new feeling. 

Stiles smiled into the joint where Derek's neck met his chest, his lips dragging over the skin of his collarbone. Derek pressed a kiss on the top of Stiles' head and promptly fell asleep. 


	3. Guns and roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is why I warned for major character death and depictions of violence. Again, heavily inspired by AHS Coven (Seriously guys, it's great!) Enjoy. All feedback appreciated xx
> 
> The threat of the Argents comes to a head. Stiles uses magic in front of the pack for the first time. They wanted it, but, seeing the reality of Stiles' abilities is another matter entirely.

When the morning came, the ground was fresh with the night's light drizzle and the air had a refreshing coolness to it. It was the first time the heat had waned in over a week and the population of Beacon Hills were out in force, taking the opportunity to get all their chores done while they wouldn't roast in the process. Talia had taken Peter and Jason into town for the week's groceries while Laura was tasked to clean the house after she'd dropped Cora off at school.

Derek and Stiles had been left undisturbed after not making it to breakfast. Peter and Laura had made lewd jokes while Jason and Talia had smiled privately at each other, a little proudly on his part. Cora had grimaced over her now unappealing cereal, dropping her spoon into the bowl loudly in disgust.  

In truth, the pair had barely moved. They'd shifted positions repeatedly, each refusing to relinquish their hold on the other but both needing to renew the circulation through their tangled limbs. Stiles couldn't have known it, but, Derek was very aware of how their scents had merged during the night. It smelled good. It smelled right. Stiles might not bear Derek's mark yet, might not have been married or mated by him nor borne any of his cubs but the smell was as clear a statement of any that they were promised to each other, that they trusted each other to get close enough to scent each other. It was a promise that would keep the many non-existent competitors for Stiles' companionship in Derek's mind at bay and he reveled in it. 

It was more than a little ridiculous, they'd met less than twenty-four hours ago. It was instinct. He couldn't justify it. Nor did he want to. He'd brought Stiles the stag out of duty, with no real thought given to why he wanted to do it so badly. It was expected that he would repeatedly demonstrate to his desired mate that he was capable of providing for and protecting him until the moment that Stiles consented to the bite and became his mate officially and permanently. 

He honestly hadn't been sure how Stiles would react, it could have gone very badly. Werewolf culture and tradition was considered overly primitive by other supernatural beings and Stiles was the Voodoo Prince. Derek had never seen how his tribe operated but he figured that anyone with the title of prince was going to expect to be treated in the manner he was accustomed, which was not what was going to happen now he was among wolves.

When Stiles had asked him to shift back, he'd panicked. He hadn't really thought about the fact that Stiles couldn't understand the non-verbal communication wolves used when they were shifted, all head tilts and ear turning. He'd been more relieved than he thought he'd ever felt before when Stiles had accepted his gift as it was intended, Derek didn't know what gifts were customary among Stiles' people but fresh carcasses probably weren't on the list. His father had positively beamed at him with pride when Stiles had responded by letting him taste his scent for the first time, in front of the whole pack as well. It was a clear and very public statement. 

Derek had impressed. Stiles accepted. 

Derek had been curious watching Stiles as he worked at Derek's gift. He'd wanted to ask what Stiles intended to do with each part. Wolves would eat the meat but that was about it. Stiles had carefully removed and packaged every piece. Nothing went to waste. There was a definite beauty to that. The Voodoo Witches were at one with nature in a way that few other supernatural beings were, even the wolves. 

Derek decided he'd ask as soon as Stiles woke. He'd been awake himself for nearly an hour, wolves didn't take much sleep. He was enjoying just looking at Stiles' sleeping form laying passively in his arms, totally at rest. From the second he'd arrived, Stiles had shown a complete trust in Derek, despite the initial scent of fear that had clung to him. There wasn't even a trace of that now, Derek's own scent had replaced it completely. He was extremely pleased about that.

They'd changed positions a few times during the night. They were now laid in one line, Stiles cheek rested on Derek's naval, his arms wrapped around his waist. Derek's hand was rested on the back of Stiles' neck, holding his face against his body. As Stiles returned from sleep he rubbed inadvertently against Derek's groin. He couldn't suppress his natural response to the contact and felt heat flood his cheeks. He and Stiles hadn't even properly kissed yet and Derek didn't want him to think he was taking advantage while he slept. He didn't know what to do. There wasn't anything he could do and before long Stiles had woken. He rolled onto his stomach, his chin sat on Derek's abdomen, looking up the bed at him.  

He was smiling. Relief flooded through Derek's muscles, relaxing them all except the ones in his cheeks, which pulled upwards into a goofy grin. He must've looked a fool but he couldn't help it. For a moment he wasn't sure if Stiles had noticed his arousal, but then his saw the smile turn wicked as his head dipped to pressed a kiss to Derek's flat stomach. He gasped at the contact as the second kiss landed, lower this time. Then the third...then the forth, tracing a line down his torso.  One fist clenched in the sheets as the other hand squeezed and pushed down against the back of Stiles' neck appreciatively, keeping his mouth against his skin.

They never made it to breakfast. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Beacon Beauties was filled to capacity. 

Every chair was filled, as was every seat in the queue. All four beauty technicians were chattering excitedly with their customers as they worked, apologizing for the wait and inquiring after families. Loudest among them was Claudia. The queen of her crowded little kingdom, she greeted, serviced and released her clients at a pace the other workers couldn't match. Sweat was forming on her brow despite the fresh breeze as she powered through the ever growing queue. 

Lydia sat at the reception desk, not a hair out of place as she typed, fingers flying over the keys as she took payments and booked future appointments. Her laughter bounced around the room as she exchanged pleasantries with those waiting to be seen. It was a well rehearsed system. They were all tribe, all family, adorned with matching runic tattoos on their arms and some on their necks as well. They worked in perfect synchronization. The equal proportion of male and female witches made the salon truly unisex. While gender boundaries were commonplace in the beauty industry, no such restrictions were felt at the Stilinskis' establishment. Men laid their necks bare for open bladed shaves across from their partners at the nail bar. It was another point of pride for the Chief, the three previous leaders had all been men and times had changed dramatically since the last female chief nearly a century ago. She and Lydia were proud that the women of their people were seen to be as powerful as the men and the men to be as gentle and nurturing as the women. It was an attitude the mortal world desperately needed to catch up on, in their opinion. 

It was for this reason that no one thought it strange when the presence of another man was sensed approaching from across the street. Just another customer to add to the queue. This one was unfamiliar, but, that wasn't unusual. While the salon had a strong following, they often saw a large number of one off customers passing through the town. 

As his silhouette appeared in the doorway, his features obscured by the dazzling sun at his back, Lydia turned from the flamboyant, middle aged woman with pink hair she'd been gossiping with to greet him. Her mouth opened to speak but it was her inner voice that spoke. It was loud in her ears, its' tone urgent.

_Argent. Hunter._

Her hand flew up as she moved in front of the pink haired woman protectively, defensive chants forming on her lips as the first bullet propelled through her palm and planted itself in her eye socket with an anticlimactic pop. She didn't hear the woman's screams as her head snapped back and she fell across her lap, lifeless. 

The woman was dispatched with equally brutal efficiency, her entire future snuffed out with the touch of a trigger. The other witches hauled their clients from their chairs and shoved them forcefully towards the salons back exit, away from this new threat.

The Chief barely spared a glance for her fallen daughter as she leaped across the room to the reception desk, sharp pops echoing about her. Her fingers closed around one of the vials of black liquid hidden behind the computer screen just as the next shot made contact with her temple, throwing her to the ground with a loud thud. 

The tribe erupted in outraged screams, not a war cry but a wail of grief. Without leadership, they broke rank. Forcing the clients still alive out into the street, they hurled bone-knives and fired curses out of woven, wicker wands at the intruder. The sparks of the curses spluttered out as they were absorbed into an ornately carved amulet hanging from the hunter's neck. The knives landed in a thick Kevlar vest covering his chest, barely slowing him. 

They didn't retreat. The deaths of their beloved leaders had enraged them beyond fear or reason. Even as the blood fled their bodies in spurts as the onslaught of bullets continued, they threw their attacks in vain retaliation. 

When all was quiet, the man holstered his weapon and wiped the blood from his grizzled features in disgust. He didn't spare a glance for any of the open eyes laid about the room, looking aimlessly out into the void he'd banished them to, before turning his back on the salon and walking away with icy calmness. 

In the silence. mother and daughter laid still. Their gazes met across the bloodied floor, but, neither one could see the other.

Neither would ever see the other again.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Derek was sitting on the sofa watching TV, his fingers in Stiles' hair as his head rested in his lap when it struck. Stiles sat bolt upright without warning and cried out at a deafening volume. It was a noise more terrible than Derek had ever heard, inhuman and charged with power and pain. It reverberated around the house, shaking the windows so hard Derek thought they might shatter with the force of it. He swung around to face Stiles' mortified expression at lightening speed, fighting the instinct to shift form and attack the unseen enemy which was hurting him. Their eyes met but Stiles couldn't see him. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes rolled back in his skull, his irises vanishing from view. Derek's knuckles went white as Stile's grip on his hands intensified.

"Stiles!" He yelled, fear filling his voice and threatening to seal off his windpipe.

Stiles didn't respond. Derek doubted he'd even heard him. He took him by the shoulders and shook him. He barely registered the noisy footfalls of the rest of the pack as they rushed into the room from around the house, fangs bared defensively. Each of them halted abruptly and stared at Stiles' white filled eyes in horror.

Eventually, they rolled back around, but still Stiles didn't speak. His mouth moved like a fish out of water in stunned silence, tears streaming down his blank face. 

"Take me home." he finally choked, Derek's thumping heart nearly drowned the whispered words out of his ears. "Please, Derek. Take me home." 

Derek could only nod numbly.

 

Twenty minutes later they pulled up opposite the salon. Derek still didn't know what Stiles had seen that had made him want to flee the Hale-house so immediately. Stiles had simply shaken his head frantically when Derek had asked so they'd driven in silence.

Derek was hurt and confused by the sudden change and that Stiles hadn't confided the source of his terror with him, wondering if it was a vision of his future actions that had sent Stiles into this meltdown. Did he think Derek was going to hurt him? Betray him? Derek's instincts rolled his stomach over inside him, demanding that he seize Stiles' slight form and somehow make him understand that they could trust each other and that Derek would protect him. 

He didn't. His brain knew better than his disorientated instincts. Visions weren't something he knew how to deal with, or had ever even witnessed before. All he knew was that Stiles had begged him to take him home and that was exactly what Derek was going to do. 

As soon as the passenger door opened the smell hit him.

Blood. 

His eyes flashed, fangs filling his mouth. Stiles was somehow already across the road and disappearing into the salon, arms swinging wildly as he ran. Derek yanked his seat belt off and sprinted after him, the urge to protect flooding his muscles and propelling him in pursuit. His claws sprung from his nail beds as he crossed the threshold and the appalling state of the salon's interior was seared onto his retinas. He knew in that moment that the sight would never leave him as long as he lived. 

It was carnage. Lifeless eyes and breathless chests peppered with dark holes lay abandoned on the floor like so much meat. The floor and walls were streaked with bullet holes and blood. The furniture was overturned and the mirrors shattered. Derek could smell the death in the air, its' acrid scent burning in his throat. It wasn't the smell of a fresh hunt, of food to put in the bellies of your family. It was the smell of hatred, of lives wasted and futures torn away. 

It was the smell of murder. And it was everywhere. 

Stiles knelt barely five foot through the door, his sister's head cradled in his lap as he looked desperately into her empty face. He didn't speak. He couldn't form words. His lips were drawn back in a silent scream as his breath rushed through his body in shaky sobs.

There was no threat here. It had already moved on. Derek shifted back to his human form and stepped cautiously forwards to stand at Stiles' back, placing one hand awkwardly on his shaking shoulders and squeezing firmly. 

This is what Stiles had seen, not just seen, even, but heard and felt and experienced. It had been too terrible for him to even tell it to Derek. He'd refused to believe it until he held her in his arms. Derek looked down over Stiles at Lydia's ruined face. Stiles looked across to his mother momentarily, shaking his head in bewilderment, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his sister's forehead, stroking her auburn locks aside before laying her gently back down on the floor and turning to Derek. 

"I need one of the bullets." He snarled. Derek nodded and zig-zagged carefully across to a hole in the opposite wall, refusing to step over Stiles' fallen friends and family and dug one out of the plaster. The silver stung his skin and he dropped it hastily into his jacket pocket.

He turned to Stiles. His eyes were bloodshot but he looked stronger now. He stood at full height in the doorway, all trace of sorrow gone as he regarded the scene with mute rage. He nodded to Derek and strode back out to the camero.

Once inside, he pulled out his phone and held it to his ear. Derek waited expectantly as it rang. 

"Yes, hello? Police, please." His voice broke and he sniffed loudly. "I heard gunshots...Beacon Beauties Salon." He snapped the phone shut and tucked it into his pocket. "Let's get out of here before they arrive. I'm not leaving them just lying there any longer than necessary but I want this bastard for myself." 

They fastened their seat belts and Derek roared the engine into life, pulling out from the curb and speeding back the way they came towards the preserve. 

 

Stiles didn't speak as he flung the door to the Hale-house open with a bang and headed for the kitchen. The pack watched after him before turning to Derek, brows furrowed in concern. 

"The Argents got to Stiles' family." He explained. 

His mother's eyes went wide, her mouth falling open. "Are they..." She couldn't say it.

Derek nodded solemnly then left them, following Stiles out of the room. He found him with his supply cupboard open, jars and boxes strewn on the counter top. On the central island he'd already drawn a five pointed star enclosed in a circle with mountain ash and placed a tall black candle on each point. In the centre sat a wide but shallow wooden bowl from which steam bellowed towards the ceiling, seemingly from nowhere. Stiles was stood opposite him, a small hand mirror and a glass jar in one hand as he painted complex runes onto his cheeks and forehead in a red paste which smelled like mud and spices Derek didn't recognize. 

"Stiles?" He ventured. "You can't bring them back. Even I know that no magic can revive the dead. Not properly." 

Stiles lifted his bloodshot eyes to meet Derek's. "No. You can't." he agreed, bluntly. "But you can damn well send someone to share their fate. With both mum and Lyds dead the rest of the tribe will try to run North where the forest is denser. I'm going to make sure he doesn't follow them, or hurt anyone else. Ever." his voice was resolute.

He laid down the mirror and picked up a straw figurine the height of his outstretched hand. He held his other palm out to Derek, who dropped the bullet into it without comment, fixated on the ritual in process. It wasn't about vengeance, he understood that. It was about removing the threat. Stiles was a prince and he was going to protect those who remained of his people the best way he knew how to. 

He pushed the bullet tip first into the figure's torso through the woven strands and shook it gently to check it stayed there. He then took a velvety red rose from one of the sealed jars and kissed its' stem, drawing one of the thorns across his lips to coat it in his blood. Derek flinched at his pain but Stiles seemed not to notice. A thin line of blood ran down his chin, but, Derek resisted the urge to wipe it away, giving Stiles space to work. He was aware that the rest of the pack had joined them, their anxious scents filling his senses. Laura slipped one of her hands into his in reassurance, the other keeping Cora behind her protectively as their sister craned up to see over their shoulders. Peter looked on in twisted excitement, leaned against the counter lazily, arms crossed over his chest. His father's hand appeared on his shoulder and he spared his parents a quick glance. His mother watched Stiles intently, her expression neutral, while his father was eyeing him more cautiously, clearly disturbed.

Stiles turned the rose between his fingers and pressed it against the straw figure, plunging the bloodied thorn into its' chest before tying them together with twine and casting them into the steaming bowl, where it vanished from view. There was a howl of wind as the steam turned to thick, black smoke and the flames leaped high from the candle towards the ceiling. A man's agonized cry filled their ears, causing all but Stiles to jump at the unexpected sound, before the flames vanished and the smoke cleared, leaving them in stunned silence. 

Stiles turned his wet eyes to the pack, his face full of sorrow and shame. It was the first time he'd shown them the power they'd bought by bringing him into their home, by showing him kindness and he'd used it to kill someone he'd never met. Derek understood his inner conflict perfectly. He broke from his fathers grip and moved around the island to wrap Stiles in his arms, finally succumbing to his instincts, rubbing strong palms along Stiles' spine in an attempt to comfort him. Stiles buried his face in Derek's neck and cried freely at last. His body felt fragile against Derek's muscular frame as it shook with grief and shock.

No one spoke. They just stood as they were for a time none of them cared to measure. None of them wanted to say what they knew they were all thinking. Hunters come in packs and if the Voodoo Witches had fled, it meant their predatory focus would now be turning to the Hales. 

Derek looked into the faces of his family. After what he'd seen in the salon, the thought made his blood run cold.


	4. Don't make me do this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hales prepare for the Argents to attack. 
> 
> The pack enters a new era. 
> 
> (Things get fluffy towards the end. I can't help it, I need to counter out the angst!) 
> 
> All feedback appreciated. Enjoy xx

Derek and Stiles made it to breakfast first the next day.

Neither had slept much, nor had anyone. The sun was barely up by the time they were all gathered in the lounge after their meager meal. No one had much of an appetite. They all knew what laid ahead of them, but, no one wanted to broach the subject so they sat in an uncomfortable quiet in the lounge in front of the morning news, which was a grim as they all felt.

Eventually, it was Peter who brought it up. "We need to deal with this." he said bluntly. "If we don't, we're gonna go the same way the Voodoo Witches did." 

Derek growled at the insensitive reference, squeezing Stiles' knee protectively. 

"I agree." Stiles rubbed Derek's shoulder, smiling weakly. He turned to Talia and Jason "Do you have a plan?" 

The Alpha sat forward in her chair. "We need to take the fight to them."

Everyone looked at her as if she'd just suggested they bathe in wolfs bane to cover their scents.

"The Stilinskis were a powerful family." She looked over at Stiles sympathetically. "The Argents were only able to do what they did because they had the element of surprise. They got to set the rules of engagement. We aren't going to give them that luxury." 

"We need to know where they are." Jason nodded, his heavy brows furrowing in thought. "And how many." 

"Before they figure out where we are." Cora joined. 

"They already know." Peter assured her. "They'll be making preparations as we speak. I'm thinking that Stiles' little magic trick last night will have made them think twice before attacking. That will have bought us some time." 

"Can't you use magic to get information on them?" Laura asked hopefully, scraping her dark hair back behind her ears. Stiles shook his head. 

"Not without something of theirs to create a psychic link." He answered solemnly. 

"So we're left with old fashioned scouting." Derek concluded. "I'll go." 

"Like hell you will." His mother barked, her tone left no doubt that she was not about to be argued with about this. "You're staying here with Stiles. Laura, take Cora to school."

"Mum!" Cora began to protest. "You need every wolf-"

"We need to know," her father interrupted. "That you're safe while we're out scouting for our enemy. School is the safest place for you." 

"You're going." Talia agreed. "Laura, Peter, your father and I will go to the salon and start tracing the scent back towards wherever they're staying. Hopefully they won't have moved."

Peter huffed loudly.

"I called the Alpha of the Winchester pack." She continued. "He tells me that there are three Argents. Minus the one Stiles took care of last night, that leaves two left." 

"That's not so bad." Cora ventured optimistically. 

"It only took one yesterday." Talia reminded them. "We need to be clever about this. We're not attacking today, we're just going to find out where they are and put them under watch. Then, we'll attack them when they're on their way to attack us."

Peter smiled viciously. "They'll be out in the open."

"In unfamiliar territory." Derek added. 

"Exactly." His mother rose from her chair. "We need to be quick though." 

The pack stood, a new sense of purpose infusing fresh energy into their muscles. 

"Not you two." Derek and Stiles looked at each other blankly before turning back to their Alpha 

"Why?". 

Talia crossed her arms across her chest. "Because." She spoke softly. "I just said we're going to the salon. You don't want to go back there, nor do you need to. We're just going to locate them. When it comes to eliminating them I promise you won't be left behind." 

Stiles nodded mutely. She was right. He did not want to go back there. He didn't even want to leave the preserve and he didn't want to be left alone without Derek either. 

"Ok." Derek put his arm around Stiles' waist, anchoring him. "It's our turn on chores anyway." 

The Alpha sighed, relieved not to have to argue this point. "Thank you. Laura, get your sister to school and meet us at the Beauties." They nodded obediently and dispersed, leaving Derek and Stiles alone. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

The house chores ended up taking them most of the day. They got into a very competitive foam fight during the washing up. Derek had ended up with bubbles gelled into his hair, while he'd opted to put generous handfuls up Stiles' T-shirt and rub them all over his torso. Once they'd stopped laughing, Stiles had cried out of nowhere. Derek hadn't minded, adapting easily to Stiles' sudden outflow of emotion. They'd sat right there on the kitchen floor, covered in foam and cried together. Stiles' thought he loved him a little for his kindness. After they'd calmed, they had to shower again to wash away the suds. Naked together under the warm stream of water they got distracted, again. 

They did manage to get through the vacuuming without incident and put the clothes in the washer. Watering the garden had turned into a water fight, Derek had poured the watering can on Stiles' head, who had retaliated with a hosepipe to the face. Derek had charged into the stream head on and tackled Stiles across the leaf strewn ground. When they rolled to a stop, Derek was hovering above him, pinning him against the warm earth.

Sex again wasn't really an option at this point, they had limits.

They changed into dry clothes and went back outside to finish their work. Derek didn't bother putting another shirt on, allegedly because it was hot and he accused Stiles of privately planning a re-match. Stiles pretended to be affronted but in truth was perfectly happy to lounge on the grass and watch Derek's defined muscles work as he lifted the heavy metal can to reach pots and over beds of vegetables. 

He knew damn well Derek had kept himself stripped off to revel in Stiles' distraction. He was growing in confidence as he became more able to gauge Stiles' responses to him, his body and his behavior. His taunts were becoming bolder and Stiles' reactions more honest. They were going to be mated, there was no point in denying their attraction to each other, not just their bodies but their personalities too. Once he'd become accustomed to Derek's various mannerisms, he had suddenly seemed far less brooding an uncommunicative. His eyebrows did a lot of his talking, but his entire body language was very expressive.

He kept throwing brilliant smiles his way as he worked. Stiles stared shamelessly, wiggling his eyebrows and biting on his lower lip seductively as his long fingers toyed with the grass. When he'd finished, Derek put the can down and strutted confidently towards where Stiles was laying, his smile open and honest. The sweat running down his defined figure glistened in the sun. It was the most beautiful Stiles had seen him yet. Time seemed to slow down as though the universe wanted to prolong this perfect moment as Stiles committed every detail of Derek's image to his memory. 

The blast tore through the silence, appearing out of nowhere and plunging into Derek's back. Stiles' face fell as he watched in horror as the bullet tore its' way back out of his abdomen and landed in the grass between them. Derek didn't speak, didn't move. His went to his knees without a struggle, eyes falling to the blood running out of him and into the earth. 

Stile scrambbled to his feet, uncoordinated limbs flailing as he raced to cross the distance between them. He rolled Derek's heaving body onto his back, laying him in his lap. He felt the warmth of blood soaking his jeans. 

"Stiles..." Derek breathed. He pointed weakly to the house's open front door but Stiles wasn't going anywhere. 

"Hang in there, big guy." He begged. "It went right through. I can close you up, just hold on for me." 

A harsh laugh flooded his ears. He looked up to see a athletically built woman in black leathers marching towards him. She had a terrible beauty, flawless features lifted into a sadistic smirk. An older man walked beside her, his weathered face set in grim determination. Each carried a hunting rifle, the older man reloaded and joined her in taking aim straight at Stiles' head. 

Rage filled him, but it wasn't blind. These people murdered his family, but, that didn't mean he would enjoy killing them. He hated it. Hated how it felt to know that you'd taken away their chance at redemption. prevented any good they might of done. Everyone was loved by someone. Derek squeezed his hand urgently and Stiles pushed any sympathy for these people from his mind.

Derek would not die like this and neither would he. He forbade it. 

"Don't make me do this." He warned them. The woman threw her head back, laughing harder than ever. 

"Do what, little witch?" She raised one perfectly formed eyebrow at him, her gaze turning to ice. "Don't worry, we're not gonna kill you, just your mutt. Death's too good for you. You're gonna pay for what you did to my brother, what you took from my family" 

"Not before you pay for what you took from mine." He promised. 

He squeezed his eyes shut as they rolled back in their sockets, looking inwards for the power he knew was within him. When he found it he threw them open again. Baring his fury to them, he roared in defiance.

In his minds eye he saw their own eyes go wide as their arms moved without their consent, turning the rifles on each other. He heard the shots fire simultaneously as his body restored itself to find them laying on the ground, dead. The four scouting wolves broke the treeline and covered the distance to them at impossible speed. 

"Take him inside." Stiles barked. He put Derek's lolling head into Laura's arms and ran into the house to the kitchen. He had dealt with major injuries before, it was simple to do but it all relied on sheer power and speed and far too much of both has already been spent. Frantically, he threw willow bark, assorted herbs and animal fat into a bowl and mashed it furiously into a paste. Slicing his own palm open he poured his blood into the mix, beating it into a thick liquid. Talia and Peter stood watching him, their faces the perfect masks of fear and wonder. They stepped out of his way hastily as he passed them.

Derek was laid out on the sofa, his blood soaking into the cushions. He was pale, very pale. His breathing was shallow and his body drenched in sweat. His mouth worked but no coherent words came out, just pained moans. Laura knelt by him, one of his large hands clasped in her smaller pair. Her tear soaked eyes watched Stiles as he used two fingers to pull Derek's wound wide open and poured the steaming liquid in. 

Derek roared, fangs sprouting. His blown pupils flashed and his back arched up off the fabric of the sofa. The smell of singed flesh filled the fear soaked air. 

"Roll him over." Stiles ordered. The wolves complied without question. Stiles held open the entrance wound on Derek's back and poured more of the hot liquid into it, causing another pained growl. Derek sunk his claws into the cushions, tearing them open, as he was laid supine once more. 

Yanking a small jar of white paste from his pocket, he scrawled matching runes on his and Derek's palms. Pressing them together, he felt their touching skin become white hot as energy poured from his body into Derek to fuel his supernatural healing.

His head swum. His knees wobbled as he felt his strength flooding out of him. He didn't pull away, didn't try to stem the flow. Derek needed every ounce if his failing body was going to cope. Through blurred eyes he saw the packs confused faces turn from Derek's closing wounds and returning complexion to Stiles' strained expression and hunched shoulders.

Just when Stiles thought he was going to give out, he felt the drain on his power abate. It was enough, Derek's body was taking back control of itself, pushing away from the edge between life and death.

Stiles released their hands and heaved a sigh of relief. When he was able to open his heavy eyelids, he looked down at Derek's healing body, at rest now. 

He'd done it. Derek was safe. He was going to be fine.  

He felt Jason's strong arms wrap around his shoulders, relieving him of his body weight and leading him across the lay on the opposite sofa. He was too weak to resist or cooperate. As his head met the cushions he felt his mind come grinding to a halt, this thoughts becoming intangible as sleep took him.

\---------------------------------------------------

Derek and Stiles had been left undisturbed as soon as they'd been rested enough to move upstairs to bed. Their tired muscles has drawn into smiles and weak embraces as they each registered that the other was safe. They slept, wrapped up in each others limbs, for nearly three days and nights. Members of the pack brought them food and they moved as far as the en suite to wash twice a day, but apart from that they never emerged from under the duvet. 

After the first time Laura had checked on them to be met with the smell of fresh sex, the visits had become less frequent, it clear that their strength was rapidly growing. Stiles and Derek were too emotionally drained to be embarrassed by any of it. They took comfort in each others presence, not speaking. They didn't need to. Each read the others actions perfectly as they moved as thought they were one mind in two interlocked bodies. 

It was nearly nightfall when Stiles eventually broke their silence. Derek was laying supine beneath him, his hands stroking up and down Stiles' spine as he straddled his hips so they laid chest to chest. His chin sat atop Stiles' soft hair, savoring their shared scent as Stiles nuzzled his neck, tongue running over his skin just below his ear. 

"Bite me." he whispered. Derek barely heard it. 

"What?" He blurted, his hands going still. 

Stiles put his palms on Derek's muscled chest and pushed himself upright so he was looking down into the face of his mate. "Bite me." He repeated, more assertive this time. "I'm ready."

Derek's hands had fallen instinctively to Stiles' waist. He traced his own finger impressions gently across the lightly bruised skin as he spoke. "You don't need to rush into this." he assured. "There's no alliance for us to uphold. We can take our time, if you need to." 

"I don't". Derek looked up into Stiles' vulnerable expression. A single tear ran down his otherwise perfect face. He reached up and brushed it away with his thumb, cradling Stiles' face in his hand. Stiles' leaned into his touch affectionately. 

Stiles took his hand and wrapped it around the back of his own neck. Pressing Derek's thumb to his pulse point, he pulled him up so they were face to face. Derek shifted between his legs, groin rubbing against his bare perineum and drawing a gasp from his mouth. 

Derek surged forward at the weak sound and seized those soft, pink lips between his, biting down and pulling Stiles' chin up by his mouth, exposing his neck. Stiles obliged, turning his face skyward, eyes closed in the bliss of the moment as Derek gnawed at his throat, leaving angry red marks as his teeth dragged across Stiles' soft skin. 

"I love you." He declared to the heavens. "Derek, please." 

"I love you, too." Derek's stubble scraped roughly against him as his mouth kissed a line up his windpipe to his chin and along his jawline to the vulnerable point under his mandible where his pulse raced. Derek clamped down on that spot with his fangs, but still didn't break the skin. Stiles moaned obscenely loud, hand pressing hard against the back of Derek's skull, trying to draw him impossibly closer. 

Derek's hand were pressed to Stiles' broad back, anchoring them together, his arousal slotted between Stiles' spread buttocks. 

"Please, Derek." Stiles pleaded."Please! I'm yours! I'm all yours! Just say you'll have me! Please!" 

Eventually Derek's self-control broke. He sunk his fangs deep into Stiles' pulse, tasting the coppery warmth of blood in his mouth. Stiles' muscles snapped taught as the bite's effect flooded his system. His eyes flashed and fangs protruded from his gums. Two victorious words roared in his mind as he and Derek's consciousnesses collided. 

_**Stiles! Mine!** _

As the fangs retracted and his skin sealed into a fine white scar, the shift ended and Derek pulled back. Stiles' face fell from the ceiling so their foreheads rested on each other, matching grins mirroring each other. Stiles felt strong, stronger than he'd ever felt. His muscles had become dense cords beneath his skin. His bones turned to iron. Moving his hands to Derek's shoulders he pushed hard, slamming his mate down against the mattress. 

Derek looked amused, his face full of mischief. He gripped Stiles' forearms and flipped them over, earning a surprised squeak as his body moved to pin Stiles' in place.

When they eventually descended the stairs to join their smirking pack-mates, as well as a horrified Cora who looked as though she wanted to wash her nostrils out with bleach, it wasn't the smell of sex that marked this turning point for the Hales. It was the scent of new wolf, belonging to the proud mate of their new Alpha. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek knelt at Stiles' feet, chin rested on his knees, hands stroking along the curved tattoos on his crossly folded forearms. 

"Stiles. The most beautiful of the gods' creatures. My moon and starlight. Love of my life. Father of my cubs. I'm sorry." 

Stiles remained unmoved, slouching in the armchair like a petulant teenager. "Sorry doesn't bring my doughnut back, asshole." he tried to sound angry.

"Daddy! Don't swear!" their little boy's voice was muffled by the last mouthful of his own doughnut. 

"Whose side are you on?" Stiles' hard expression cracked as he laughed. Derek silently declared victory and pounced, crushing Stiles in a breath expelling embrace. 

"Urgh! I'm still mad! Get off!" Stiles protested, wriggling vainly.

"Nope." Derek squeezed tighter. 

"The pack's side. Duh." the boy answered, brushing crumbs from his dark hair. 

"Smart ass." Stiles huffed. 

"Daddy! Don't swear!" A second little boy's voiced joined in. 

Stiles sighed in defeat and stilled in Derek's arms. "I'm completely outnumbered here, aren't I?" 

The two boys clambered up the furniture, further pinning their father against the cushions. 

"Completely." Derek agreed. 


End file.
